Scarlet

Do you see her jawline as something to be conquered;
a barricade to batter down.
Or, is it just that you think scarlet suits her skin-tone;
compliments the pale blue fear in her eyes.
I suppose the ruby necklace you've left round her throat was cheap.

Every darkened, deadened patch of flesh
propagates; hollows out the soul;
removes the core of the apple of some father's eye.
Dead inside she may now be,
but worth more than gold to me.
And you, you are dust.
It's not her I pity, but you who unmade her.
But, pity doesn't lift a hand to help,
a hand to repair.
It's you who are broken,
and I don't care.